


Gymnastics

by Krissielee



Series: Harry's Snapshots [3]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:33:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4153773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krissielee/pseuds/Krissielee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy's good at gymnastics, and he just hopes he gets to keep doing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gymnastics

**Author's Note:**

> I totally sort of bribed cyn_ful into writing this with me. I needed something to write, and she said "I think you need to write a drabble fic - snapshots of Harry watching Eggsy grow up. Stopping by every now and then, only hiding in the background. Possibly deflecting random harm that would have gotten him seriously hurt in the process. But couldn't reach out to him in person until he called." So I told her we should do it together. I take full responsibility. :D

Eggsy smiled proudly as he tugged his jacket on over his tunic, wiping his hands free of the chalk dust. 

It was his biggest competition to date, and he’d nailed his floor routine, he knew it. Everyone had been watching, and he’d been perfect. His teammates rallied round and hugged him, congratulating him, and Eggsy accepted it, incredibly proud of himself.

At 8, Eggsy had taken his first gymnastics lesson. And he _liked_ gymnastics; he was good at it, and there wasn’t much he seemed to be good at these days. His mum’s boyfriend, Dean, he was always on about the cost of the classes, complaining about how he didn’t want to raise a pouf, telling Eggsy he wasn’t any good anyway—at gymnastics or anything else … but Eggsy hoped he wouldn’t have to quit. Dean was probably just upset ‘cause he didn’t have a job and he didn’t understand how Eggsy would rather give up food than gymnastics. 

The judges called out his results then. His scores were good—not the best, but Eggsy was young yet, and that bloke from the gym across town was always going to be better, bigger, and taller than he.

He took the bottle of water from his coach, leaning against the wall while he waited for his mum to fetch him, when he saw him. An older man that Eggsy knew he’d seen around, but he couldn’t place him. He must have a kid or grandkid competing, and for a brief moment Eggsy wondered who it could be, but then his mum was there, hugging him tight, praising his scores. Eggsy beamed as he let her praise envelop him in warmth.

In the safety of his mum’s arms, Eggsy forgot all about the sort of familiar man.


End file.
